


What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

by aleksrothis



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-04-18 11:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: Is it truly better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all?Two very different elves are brought together by a shared grief; can they forge a new friendship in the Undying Lands and help each other heal?





	1. Chapter 1

“Prince Legolas?” a voice asked tentatively.

Legolas clenched his hands into fists where they rested on his beloved Gimli’s tomb as he knelt beside it. Would they never leave him alone to mourn? He didn’t reply nor turn towards them, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and go away.

Instead he heard their footsteps approaching closer. The intruder cleared their throat as though to speak and Legolas lost his temper. “Come to laugh at the foolish Sindar who loved one of the _Naugrim?_ ” he asked, spitting out the hated epithet. “I’ve had enough of mocking and spite, thank you.”

The footsteps paused. “I am sorry to hear of such cruelty,” a male voice said, “that is not my intention.” His Sindarin was only slightly accented, unlike most of the others who had come to gawk at him, when they spoke it at all, and his tone was soft. Legolas felt a twinge of guilt, which only increased as the other continued, “Olórin came to Aulë's Halls to ask for one who could write Khuzdul for your Khazad friend’s epitaph… Though I would have wished to speak with you anyway. I would have liked to speak with your 'Gimli' too, if I had known there was a dwarf here.”

Legolas turned now to look at the stranger. He looked typically Noldo - long dark hair and grey eyes, reminding him a little of the sons of Elrond, save his skin was darker. More than that, he was clearly not only one of the Reborn, but a reborn Exile, from his general aura and the light in his eyes. Legolas was reminded that he wasn’t the first elf to befriend a dwarf, even if he might have been the last. “My apologies, friend,” he said. “I am tired and grieving but that is no excuse for my rudeness. Legolas Thranduilion at your service.” He gave a half-bow, though without rising to his feet. “And you, my Lord?”

The Noldo flushed. “No titles, please.” He swallowed hard. “I am… Celebrimbor of… the House of Mahtan at yours,” he said, copying Legolas’ bow.

Legolas found himself momentarily speechless. He knew full well who Celebrimbor was - he had stood in Hollin and felt the stones themselves mourning his death, passed through his doors into Khazad-Dûm itself - but he was at a loss to know why such a legendary elven lord would be seeking him out. For that matter, why said elven lord was dressed like an ordinary craftsman, in plain unadorned apron, tunic and breeches. 

“Of course,” he said, still stunned, but starting to catch up. He had told Mithrandir how he wished for a better tomb for Gimli, something truly dwarven, but he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Legolas pushed away the curiosity as to why the other elf would want to speak to him, that could come later, after he had honoured his lover. He moved to one side, allowing Celebrimbor to approach the simple tomb, little more than a cairn, a couple of dozen carved stones arranged together, and examine it closer.

“Is this your work?” the smith asked.

Legolas shook his head. “Alas no, I have no skill with stone. Lord Elrond kindly arranged for some of his people to assist me.”

Celebrimbor’s expression twisted at Elrond’s name and Legolas wondered if he’d made a mistake mentioning it. It was sometimes hard to remember that Elrond had actually lived since the Elder Days, through all the upheaval of the War of Wrath, and had known the House of Fëanor personally. His history lessons, steeped in the bitterness, anger and remembered loss of the survivors of Doriath, were consistent in their condemnation of all of that line.

Still, Elrond had chosen to stay here on Tol Eressëa to avoid taking sides with his family and had built a home on the island, not just for himself and his wife, but open to all, as Imladris had been. Here the Hobbits and later Gimli had lived out the last of their mortal years unaffected by the politics of the mainland.

Celebrimbor knelt down beside the tomb, running his figures over the places where the stones interlocked and apparently examining the Sindarin inscription. “Did you want the Khuzdul in addition to this, or replacing it?” he asked.

Having never seriously expected to get a Khuzdul inscription after discovering that, whilst Elrond could read the Cirth used by the dwarves, he only understood their Westron writings, Legolas had to think for a moment. “I… I hadn’t got that far,” he admitted. “I didn’t really believe Mithrandir, that is, I mean Olórin, would actually find anyone. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

He had feared the elven lord might take offence given the distance he must have travelled, but instead Celebrimbor smiled at him sympathetically. “I understand. When Narvi died…” his eyes were unfocused and Legolas saw the flicker of ancient grief. He knew only too well how elven memory could be a burden at such times. Celebrimbor shook his head as though to clear it, suggesting, “Why don’t you tell me about him? And then we can work out together how best to honour him?”

With a feeling of relief at being able to share the burden of grief that had been eating at him, Legolas nodded eagerly and was about to start when Celebrimbor raised a hand.

“Not here, I think,” he said, getting to his feet. “I want you to talk to me about his life, not be constantly thinking about his death.” He evidently saw something in Legolas’ expression and added more gently, “I am truly sorry for your loss but I promise it does you no good to sit here and wait to fade. There are no dwarven fëar in the the Halls of Mandos.”

Of course, he would know. Legolas rose to his feet but found himself dizzy and stumbled as he tried to take a step. The Noldo caught him as he swayed. “I’m sorry,” Legolas said, embarrassed to have been seen in such a state but Celebrimbor only shook his head.

“No, I should have noticed sooner. When did you last eat?” he asked, “Or drink for that matter?” as he looked pointedly at the obviously empty waterskin discarded beside the tomb.

Legolas struggled to think back, the days blurring together. Glorfindel had brought him food last, before he headed to Tirion to visit his kin, but that must have been a few days ago at least, certainly it was all gone. Then he had refilled his waterskin a couple of times since then though, now he thought about it, he had emptied it just before dusk and it was now mid-afternoon so it must have been the best part of a day. It surely couldn’t have been longer.

“If you can’t remember, it’s clearly been too long,” Celebrimbor said, as he helped him stay on his feet. “Are you sure you can manage the walk back?”

Legolas wanted to be offended at the suggestion he was weak, except he truly was. He swallowed his pride, telling himself he would doing so for Gimli, and allowed the Noldo to support him as they slowly made their way to Elrond’s house.


	2. Chapter 2

Celebrimbor let the younger elf lean heavily on his arm, allowing him the pretence of walking for himself, as they took the winding path back to the main house. Since Prince Legolas did not seem to have the energy to talk, Celebrimbor took the opportunity to look him over, as a distraction from thinking about what might await him when they arrived.

His hair was a light-blond, unusual among the elves of Aman: not the gold of the Vanyar, nor the silver-pale of the Teleri, but more of creamy colour, almost like… No, Celebrimbor would not think of him. The Prince was nearly a foot shorter than he, an average height for one of the Sindar, and slender with it, though the weight Celebrimbor was supporting suggested he was usually well-muscled, if somewhat reduced by his recent lack of food.

But elves could last a long time without food, even without water, as many of them had learnt the hard way. Celebrimbor himself remembered the last few months on the Isle of Balar, before the Host of Valinor had arrived, when the refugees had been truly desperate and had certainly had nothing to spare for one of his bloodline.

He forced his thoughts away from those memories; being on Tol Eressëa always seemed to bring out the worst of them. It was as though he could feel the resentment of being surrounded by those who had suffered through the Ages while Annatar, no Gorthaur, he should call him by that and remember his cruelty, had clung to life aided by his creations, while their strength had faded.

Celebrimbor had hoped the Three would slow the decay, prevent the fading of the elves, preserve their works, and perhaps they had to some extent but he should have known better than to think the Curse of Mandos would be lifted with Morgoth’s defeat; from his house at least - to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well.

He stumbled and Legolas’s gasp brought him back to the present with a twinge of shame. He wasn't helping the other elf if his mind was wool-gathering.

He tried to find something to focus on in the present. He had spent the journey here trying to think about this project. Olórin, who many of the others called Mithrandir, had given him the barest of briefs: that there was a Sindar prince who wanted an epitaph fit for a noble dwarf. 

He hadn't known what to expect and some of his initial plans would have to be discarded. The tomb was deceptively simple, its subtle elegance belying the skill required to build something which blended in with its surroundings without being unnoticeable. 

Still, it was a very elven memorial. Elrond’s craftsmen had done their work well, but then Celebrimbor had heard that said of his Imladris, though he had never had the chance to visit before his death.

Celebrimbor quickly turned his thoughts away from that line. This was why he tended to avoid contact with others, especially the returned exiles, their descendants, and those Sindar who had finally made the voyage. It led his mind along dangerous courses, remembering things he would do better to forget.

Instead he thought about the occupant of the tomb, Legolas’ dwarven friend - Gimli son of Glóin, as the existing plaque named him. Celebrimbor couldn’t help but wonder about his appearance - had he been tall for a dwarf, standing to the elf’s shoulder? Or closer to Narvi, who had barely come up to his chest? Had he been blond like Narvi, or dark like Azaghal and his folk, or even red-headed as were so many of Durin’s line? Had he been a warrior, or a craftsman, or something else? Surely dwarves hasn't changed that much over the passing millennia, not those Aulë had made from stone to resist Morgoth’s corruption. 

Thoughts of what kind of tomb might suit this Gimli best occupied his thoughts until they reached the first of the outlying buildings of Elrond’s estate. Legolas grew more tense, trying to lean away from Celebrimbor's support, perhaps loath to show weakness in front of those he knew or perhaps reluctant to be seen in such close contact with a kinslayer. 

Celebrimbor didn’t especially want to go to the main house either. Despite Elrond’s assurances, he had never felt welcome on Tol Eressëa and, though he didn’t think he would come to any harm in Elrond’s home, that didn’t mean there was no-one there who might want to harm him.

Fortunately Legolas indicated a small cottage set off to one side of the main path. “I've been staying here,” he said, then continued with a rueful smile, “Or at least this is where my possessions are. After Gimli died I couldn't stay in the main house, I felt as though I was seeking him around every corner.”

Celebrimbor could empathise with that, he had felt that same after Narvi’s passing, and it was then Annatar had come and taken advantage of his grief. The Maia had seemed so understanding, speaking of Aulë’s love for his folk and how no-one knew what fate awaited them after death. It was so they had begun their work on the Seven first; Celebrimbor had never been able to bring himself to ask anyone of their fate but now wasn't the time to change that.

Legolas dropped into one of the chairs and Celebrimbor left him there for a moment to look around the cottage. He quickly found the kitchen and filled a cup with cold water from the tap, taking it out to Legolas, who sensibly took careful sips though he must have been thirsty enough to drain it.

Celebrimbor returned to the kitchen to investigate further. The small pantry was mostly empty but did have a small stock of dried fruits, nuts and some cheese in waxed paper; there was no bread but some biscuits which didn't look too stale. He had just put together a plate of food when Legolas padded into the kitchen to refill his cup.

Legolas insisted on sharing the meagre meal though, in the process of moving them back to the more comfortable seats of the small parlour, Celebrimbor was able to ensure the other had the larger portion. Despite yawning throughout the meal, once he was finished, Legolas resisted sleep. "I promised I would tell you about all Gimli," he protested.

“There's no rush. We can talk further when you're rested." Celebrimbor doubted he would get much sense out of the Sindar until after he had slept, as exhausted as he clearly was. 

"Maybe just a quick nap," Legolas slurred, his eyelids already falling shut, a sign of quite how tired he must be.

"I won't go far,” Celebrimbor promised but he was already asleep. Celebrimbor found a blanket to lay over him then turned his thoughts to his next step. With Legolas fallen into reverie, Celebrimbor knew he should fulfill his obligations as a guest and let Elrond know he was here. It wouldn't look good for him to be taken unaware if there was any trouble.

Still, he didn't want to venture into the main house so searched around for something to write a note on. He didn't want to leave for long, reluctant to allow Legolas to wake alone, but surely he could find someone to prevail upon to carry a message to Elrond.


	3. Chapter 3

Elrond wasn't expecting any visitors so when Lindir turned up in his study, he was initially concerned. The minstrel had often served as an additional set of eyes and ears for him back in Imladris but, since they had come to Tol Eressëa where they had fewer guests and there was little to report on, Elrond had rarely seen him in that capacity. Still Lindir wasn't one to call upon him just for the sake of it.

Lindir smiled reassuringly. “I come bearing pleasant news, no need for that worried look," he said. "You have a new guest, who seems too shy to come up to see you in person.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “And does this mysterious guest have a name?”

“Not that he gave me, but then he couldn't even met my eye, just gave me this note.”

He took the scrap of paper as Lindir continued, “A Reborn, I would say, in craftsman’s clothing. He said he was staying in the little cottage by the East garden.”

Elrond nodded distractedly as he took in the few words written on the note before he realised Lindir was waiting for a reply. He hesitated over how to word his response; his friend might be skilled at getting information out of people without them realising they were giving it but, whilst he might not be the worst gossip here, he didn't always remember why some things ought to stay private.

He forced a smile. “Thank you for carrying the message. It is someone I have been expecting." 

"Does that mean we will be seeing him at dinner?" Lindir asked. "I could prepare some appropriate music." 

"Perhaps," Elrond said, refusing to be drawn. "He's staying by the East garden, you say? I will have to drop past to offer my regards.”

Lindir didn't react to having his unspoken question deflected, though Elrond doubted he was unaware, and instead took his leave.

Elrond looked back at the note, now scrunched in his hand. Celebrimbor was here, at last, but he had no idea what to say to him. It seemed someone had told him of Legolas’ plight, and Elrond could bless them for that - why hadn’t it occurred to him that, if anyone in Valinor could make a tomb fit for a dwarf, it would be he? It must have been Mithrandir - Varda bless him for thinking of it!

He wanted to order a welcoming feast, rush out to see him, offer him the best guest suite, but he knew Celebrimbor would not want any attention drawn to himself. Still Elrond didn’t think he could sit here and pretend to work knowing his kinsman was so close, and no doubt fretting about his reception.

Erestor, his long-time seneschal in Imladris, had reprised the role here so must have let Lindir through the outer office and no doubt overheard the majority of their conversation. Elrond knew there was no point trying to fool his old friend and he wasn't about to sneak out of his own house so he took a deep breath and stepped out of his study.

“You’ll be making a visit to the East Garden, I presume?” Erestor said, without looking up. “If you see Faniel while you’re there, remind her the next order is due in less than a week.”

On the front steps Elrond ran into Celebrían, arms full of flowers. “We have an unexpected guest,” he told her, feeling a smile hovering around his lips but trying not to let it show too soon.

Nevertheless, her eyes lit up and he was once more so grateful to have her back whole and healthy, something else he could thank Celebrimbor for, at least in part. “Do you know who? Is it a surprise?”

“I do, and I think you’ll like it.” He hoped Celebrimbor would be happy to see her - during the little time they had spent together since his arrival her presence had seemed to relieve some of the tension between them.

He had tried to thank Celebrimbor for helping care for Celebrían but he had always refused to accept any credit, though Finrod assured Elrond he’d been invaluable. The three of them had a bond Elrond could never equal but both of his kinsman had taken a step back to allow Elrond and Celebrían time to rebuild their relationship.

Arm-in-arm they crossed the garden as dusk fell. When the little cottage came into view, a tall figure was silhouetted in profile in the front window. Elrond could only say with certainty that it was someone taller and broader than Legolas but Celebrían’s step stuttered and she looked at him with hope. “Really? Is it he?”

Elrond shouldn't have been surprised she had recognised him, guessed who their visitor was. She had always been so quick-witted; truly her mother's daughter.

Celebrimbor must have been watching out for them, or for someone at least, as he came out to meet them. Celebrían rushed forward but he held out a quelling hand and put a finger to his lips.

“I don’t want to disturb him,” he told them in a low whisper. “I feel he has not slept deeply for some time.”

Elrond nodded. He had known Legolas was suffering but, short of drugging him, there was little he could do and that would have destroyed any trust between them.

Celebrían allowed Celebrimbor to lead the way to a bench a short distance from the cottage, though still within earshot of any disturbance, before she embraced him. “I’m so glad you’re here at last.”

Celebrimbor looked uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, but I couldn't…”

Celebrían put a finger to his lips. “There's no need to apologise to us. We’re family.”

That didn’t make him look any more comfortable so Elrond assured him, “You're always welcome in my home but I wouldn’t want you to feel any obligation to visit.”

“I'm afraid I may be a more demanding guest than you had anticipated,” Celebrimbor told them, still somewhat apologetically.

“Anything I can do for you, or indeed for Legolas...” Since Elrond suspected it was for the other elf Celebrimbor was asking, he doubted he would have done so for his own interests.

Celebrimbor quirked a smile. “ You may end up regretting that.”

Elrond shrugged unconcernedly. “I'm sure you can't need anything that hard to get hold of.” Even if Celebrimbor did, he would do his best to obtain it.

“A workshop and some large blocks of unworked stone,” Celebrimbor told him.

“There are several buildings which are currently empty,” Celebrían said. “I'm sure one of them will be suitable for a workshop.” She looked to Elrond for confirmation and he nodded in agreement.

“And there is a quarry within the bounds of this estate,” Elrond added. “Even if its stone isn't suitable, I'm sure we can trade it for something which is.”

Celebrimbor looked almost overwhelmed at their easy acquiescence.

“But what about your tools?” Celebrían asked.

“I left them at the docks,” Celebrimbor explained. “I wasn't certain if my assistance would be welcomed but Olórin seemed confident so I brought them in case.”

“Who did you leave them with?” Elrond asked. “I'll send a runner to fetch them.”

“Do you know what you're going to make yet? Do you have any design sketches?” Celebrían's face was lit up with excitement. “I've always loved your drawings.”

Her enthusiasm drew his first genuine smile. “I remember. You were always easy to find a midwinter gift for.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. It seemed this was a story he had never heard before.

Celebrían flushed a little. “I may have papered my bedroom in Eregion with discarded sketches. I was so upset with Mother when she wouldn't let me take them when we left.”

They all paused for a moment's silence but it wasn't heavy, as it had been in the past when Celebrimbor was reminded of that time. Instead he shook himself and said, “Well, if you wish for these sketches to decorate your room now, I'm sure that can be arranged.”

She laughed, a soft trill that Elrond was endlessly in love with. “Maybe not these ones, but I am happy for you to owe me a sketch.”

Celebrimbor looked back towards the cottage where they had left Legolas asleep. “I ought to return. I don’t want him to awake alone.”

“That’s understandable. We have been quite worried about him,” Celebrían said.

“Usually I would wait until morning to show you the potential workspaces. But if you think it would help I could take you both now?” Elrond offered.

“I don’t think it could hurt,” Celebrimbor said. “Though perhaps after some supper. I’m certain he hasn’t been eating enough.”

“I can arrange that,” Celebrian answered. “I will get the kitchen to send you some dishes to be there when you return. Then I hope you will both dine with us tomorrow, before you get so engrossed in your work you cannot be interrupted.”

“How can I refuse?” Celebrimbor said, offering her a quick bow, as though they didn’t all know he would certainly have refused if it wouldn’t be impolite. “I will look forward to seeing you there, dear cousin.”

Celebrían took her leave and Elrond saw how Celebrimbor watched her go with a tender gaze. "She is truly thrilled to have you here," Elrond told him. "We both are."

Celebrimbor looked away. "I'm just grateful for the opportunity to be able to create something which will not hurt anyone."

They had told Celebrimbor many times that he wasn't to blame for Sauron's actions but his guilt ran deep, fostered by the sins of his fathers. Elrond knew it would be a potential exercise to bring it up again but rather hoped this project would help. "Let us go and see Legolas then, so we can get you started," he said instead and they made their way back to the cottage.


	4. Chapter 4

With Elrond’s blessing for the project, and plans underway to finalise a place to work and materials to work with, Celebrimbor turned his focus on the task and Legolas suddenly felt under pressure.

They sat down, as they had already agreed, Celebrimbor with a blank sketch pad, ready for Legolas to speak about Gimli. Although he had been keen earlier, now they were sitting together in the morning light, Legolas feels more reluctant.

“I think I have to start with how our fathers met,” Legolas explains. “But, that’s hard in a different way.”

“Take as long as you need. I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Celebrimbor tells him.

Legolas appreciates the reassurance but that isn’t really the issue. He is very conscious how much of his and Gimli’s history is tied to the quest to destroy the ring, as well as how much his father’s decisions were shaped by being the only elven realm without the protection of one of the Three, and even the way Sauron and his Úlairi had been behind the transformation of the Greenwood into Mirkwood. There isn’t a way to tell any of it without referencing Sauron or the rings and Legolas isn’t certain how much Celebrimbor will be affected.

Still, there is little he can do about that, Celebrimbor must surely know what he is letting himself in for. Legolas explains how King Thrór had sent messengers asking for aid against the dragon, Smaug, but the woodland elves had been unable to help without risking their own lands to the dragon’s might.

“Dragons are indeed terrifying,” Celebrimbor notes and Legolas, remembering his distant lessons of the First Age, wonders which of the creatures he is thinking of: Ancalagon, the greatest of all dragons, who had fought in the War of Wrath, or before that, Glaurung at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad? He could hardly imagine battling a dragon directly, even having only seen Smaug at a distance and later the aftermath of his attacks, he clearly recalls the devastation caused to Esgaroth and the surrounding area.

Still, Legolas goes on to explain how the dwarven survivors had scattered amongst the other remaining dwarven kingdoms and the human lands.

He sees that Celebrimbor empathises, in a way he never could, for those forced from their homes. He had been younger and carefree at the time and had barely given a thought to the feelings of the dwarves but now, in hindsight, he can acknowledge it must have been hard to leave everything they had known for an uncertain future; he can certainly appreciate why some of them had resented the elves for not coming to their aid.

“I was a refugee myself,” Celebrimbor continues, eyes distant, as though focused on the past. “We fled Nargothrond, like them, from a dragon, with little more than the clothes on our backs.”

Tales of Nargothrond hadn’t been included in his lessons but, from the lays he had heard later, Legolas seems to recall it was built, or at least designed by dwarves. He wishes that Celebrimbor had had the opportunity of meeting Gimli for himself, the older elf must have so many stories Gimli would have loved to hear about the dwarves of the First Age and so many of things Gimli had told or shown him Legolas would never be able to put into words.

He pushes the distraction away and explains how, years later, Thorin Oakenshield, Thrór’s grandson, had drawn together thirteen companions, including Glóin, Gimli’s father, to try to retake their lost kingdom. 

There was a great deal more to that adventure, which was tied into Bilbo’s discovery of the ring, but this wasn’t the time for that tale, if Celebrimbor hadn’t indeed heard it already. Instead, Legolas skips to explaining how his father’s guards had found the dwarves wandering lost and starving within Mirkwood’s borders, close to falling victim to the giant spiders, and taken them back to the elves’ halls.

“It was the first time I had seen more than a pair of dwarves,” Legolas says. “And at the time I thought them hideous, so stunted and hairy.” He shakes his head. “It seems incredible now I could have ever been so short-sighted.”

“I had only seen two beards before I met dwarves for the first time,” Celebrimbor says. “My grandfather, and Aulë himself, and remember this was before any but Finrod had encountered Men. I have to admit they fascinated me more than anything.”

Having seen the Men of Dale and later Esgaroth, as well as occasional Dúnedain, Legolas had been accustomed to their appearance, which was closer to that of the elves, and certainly better groomed than the dwarves. Or so it he seemed to him at the time. In that respect he had thought the dwarves more similar to the Beornings, though the latter had had a natural grace to balance out their coarseness. It had been taken decades to learn how wrong he was.

At first, Thranduil had intended to treat them as guests, barring Thorin who he had had different issues with, but, after they had insulted him and his home, he had had them imprisoned in cells. 

Smiling, Legolas continues, explaining the dwarves had ‘somehow’ (since he wanted to avoid mentioning the ring as long as possible) contrived to escape in barrels downriver where they had gone onto retake Erebor and the dragon had been slain, but not before Esgaroth had been badly damaged. The wood-elves had joined the humans of Esgaroth to besiege the dwarves in their fortress, demanding justice, just in time for armies of orcs and goblins to arrive.

Necessity had made allies of them all and then, after the forces of their enemies were defeated, the elves and dwarves had come to a cordial agreement once more. It had helped that Thorin had been dead and Dain was far more reasonable.

Remembering the negotiations, Legolas finds himself missing his family. Though his father had barely approved of his relationship with Gimli, he wouldn’t have left him to grieve alone.

Something of this must have shown on his face as Celebrimbor puts down his sketchbook. “Are you well?”

“It’s just… Lord Elrond has been very kind but it’s still so lonely here.” Legolas hesitates to continue, but he thinks Celebrimbor will understand. “My father hasn’t sailed and I doubt at this point he ever will and, if any of my relatives accepted the call of Mandos, they haven’t been re-embodied yet.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Celebrimbor twists his hands together and Legolas starts to feel guilty for bringing it up, since much of the smith’s family will never be re-embodied at all.

Before he can say anything else, even apologise, Celebrimbor speaks. “I remember Oropher,” he says, with half a smile. “From what I recall, I doubt he would have agreed to be reborn surrounded by Noldor.” Legolas has to laugh, which lightens the mood a little. “Not that Námo would have given him a choice. My memories of his halls are hazy but I know there was little time to think on such prejudices.”

His words drift off, and Legolas takes the opportunity to fetch both of them a cup of water and to gather his thoughts. The next part of his tale is where it becomes personal and he is uncertain how steady he will be able to remain.

They sit in silence for a moment and Legolas knows it is time to get back to their original topic, but this is the part where he cannot avoid discussing Sauron and the rings. “So, bearing in mind the history between our fathers, I first laid eyes upon Gimli in Imladris, at the council Lord Elrond called together to tell us about the Ring and determine its fate.”

Celebrimbor flinches but he waves for Legolas to continue.

“Gimli was there, alongside his father, to represent King Dáin,” Legolas explains. “They had come to tell Elrond how Sauron had sent a messenger to him offering the return of three of the dwarven rings, and control of Moria, in return for them helping return a ring to him which had been stolen by a hobbit.”

“And that was Bilbo Baggins?” Celebrimbor asks. “I met him when he arrive here with Elrond and heard his tale. He refused to let me apologise.” 

“Indeed,” Legolas agrees. That sounded like something Bilbo would do. Not that Celebrimbor had anything to apologise for; by all accounts he had been betrayed by Sauron as much as anyone else.

Celebrimbor bites his lip, “No-one has spoken about the dwarven rings though...”

It made sense that that would be his concern but, “There is little more I can tell you, unfortunately.” Legolas hesitates then moves onto why he had been sent by his father to be the Greenwood’s representative. “The creature Bilbo took the ring from, Smeagol, had carried it for years, possibly centuries, hiding in the darkness of the Hithaeglir. After Bilbo passed through with Thorin’s company, he must have fallen into Sauron’s hands or one of his allies, which is how he learned of the events and began to search for the Ring.”

He pauses, working out how much to say. “Estel, that is, Aragorn had bought the creature to us as a prisoner, having found him haunting the marshes. He was… unsound, twisted in body and mind, unrecognisable as whatever race he had been born.”

Celebrimbor is visibly disturbed by the description of how damaged Sméagol had been. “You believe he had carried the ring for centuries? And it had warped him thus? Or was it…”

Legolas recalls the tales that Sauron had tortured Celebrimbor in trying to find the location of the Three. Does he feel a kinship to the creature? Legolas hurries onto how they had so pitied him, “We took him daily out into the sunlight where there was a tree he liked to climb. And from there he escaped during an orcish attack, though whether it was a rescue, a kidnap, or an attempted assassination is hard to say. Of course, Glóin ‘joked’ that my father had been less kind to he and his companions.”

The smith quirks a smile but it is clearly forced.

There is no benefit to describing the tedious arguments of the council so he jumps forward to simply explain how he and Gimli had both volunteered to accompany Frodo; Nine Walkers to match the Nine Riders.

“The Nine?” Celebrimbor says softly and Legolas had known that would also be a sore point, given how the Riders had been the benefactors of their own rings. “It wasn’t supposed to be that way,” he adds and it looks as though he wants to ask something else but he shakes it off when Legolas pauses.

The shadows are lengthening as the day passes and Legolas decides to describe only the highlights of their quest, the moments which had gradually brought he and Gimli closer together. Firstly the failed attempt to cross Caradhras which led to them needing to travel through it. “From the moment we had crossed into Eregion,” he says, “I could feel the stones mourning the elves who used to live there but, as we came to the West-Gate it was a reminder to me that elves and dwarves could live and work in harmony.”

His words make Celebrimbor smile. “I am glad to hear it stands yet.”

“You might not be so glad when you hear the fate of Khazad-Dûm, now Moria truly, not just in name.” The elves of Celebrimbor’s time might have called it the Black Pit out of spite but that was all that remained. Legolas tells of how they found Balin’s tomb and Celebrimbor was sorrowed to hear of how the great halls had become ruined and overrun by goblins.

Legolas shares how Gimli’s grief had moved him, though he had been less pleased when he had to drag him away from the tomb after they had fought off the first wave of enemies.

He skims over Mithrandir’s battle with the balrog, since the memories of the foul creature still causes him horror, but instead says, “We left by the East Gate and stopped at the Mirrormere.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes go distant but it seems to be a fond memory. “Kheled-zâram,” he murmurs, then looks up. “Did you gaze into it?”

“No, I only wanted to press on to Lothlorien but Gimli insisting on looking. I wish I had done. Gimli had always wished to return there, but by the time an expedition was raised he was too frail.”

“So you took a dwarf to Lothlórien? I am surprised the Galadhrim permitted him to enter. None were allowed in my day.”

Legolas laughs. “They did so very reluctantly and at the cost of my dignity too.” He tells how he had been forced to accept a blindfold, along with the rest of their company, so Gimli would be treated equally to the rest of their companions.

Celebrimbor shares his amusement at the absurdity of the tale, though Legolas remembers how much it had galled him at the time.

He tells Celebrimbor how it was in Lothlórien, while mourning Mithrandir’s apparent death, that he and Gimli had first become close, because of Gimli’s sympathy and obvious compassion. “For the first time I saw him as an individual rather than just a representative of the dwarves, a race I had been taught to disdain.”

Celebrimbor nods. “Shared experiences are a powerful thing.”

Legolas closes his eyes, remembering those early days. “In Lothlórien we walked together under the mallorn trees each evening and we found we had more in common than we had thought.”

“When we left Lothlórien, we were given gifts and Gimli was permitted to make a request of Galadriel. He asked only for a lock of her hair as a memory of the friendship between our peoples and she gave him three strands.”

Celebrimbor’s lips quirk as though he is holding back some secret amusement and Legolas asks him to share the story.

“I would but it involves my grandfather,” Celebrimbor says. “I am not certain you would want to hear any tale of Fëanor or any of his kin.

“I’m too intrigued now, I have to hear it,” Legolas insists. “At least the outline of the tale…” 

Celebrimbor describes how his grandfather had seen in the hair of Artanis, as she was known at the time, a reflection of the light of the Two Trees, which he wanted to capture and how he had requested a strand and been refused. 

“So to grant that same lock of her hair to a dwarf?” Legolas asks.

“Was almost certainly a deliberate choice, three strands for the three times my grandfather asked her perhaps.”

Celebrimbor clearly finds the story greatly entertaining and Legolas wonders if Galadriel had known the tale would reach his house eventually, or if it had been for her private entertainment.

A little lighter of heart, Legolas continues on. He is telling his and Gimli’s tale so he avoids the details of Boromir’s death and their separation from Frodo and Sam, going straight to their pursuit through Rohan of the orcs who had taken Merry and Pippin. He tells Celebrimbor how he had come to Gimli’s defence when he and Eomer might have come to blows, that he had been angered that another would threaten _his_ dwarf, then how the Riders had given them a horse to share and he had marvelled to ride alongside Gimli, the first time they had been in physical contact for more that just a moment.

Celebrimbor smiles at that. “There is something so very sturdy about dwarves, isn’t there? Their fëar and hröar are so fully present in the world.”

That was a good way of describing it, though Legolas had never heard it put quite that way before. Gimli had always grounded him, even when the sea-longing had grown strong.

After touching ever so briefly on Gandalf’s return, Legolas spoke of the battle at Helm’s Deep against Saruman’s orcs where they had competed to see who could kill the most, Legolas with his bow or Gimli with his axe.

“Was that a fair contest?” Celebrimbor wonders. “I have heard much of the skills of silvan archers.”

“Alas, perhaps if I had had more arrows, but Gimli was a great fighter.” Legolas allowed himself to be drawn into memory. "With his axe in hand he could cut swathes across a battlefield or stand firm against a horde."

“I remember well the courage of the dwarves at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad,” Celebrimbor says. “They had even nearly managed to kill Glaurung. But I never saw Narvi in battle.”

Legolas doesn’t want Celebrimbor to think Gimli only a warrior and tells him of Gimli’s flowery account of the caves of Aglarond. He had been a little insulted at Gimli’s description of them as far superior to the caves in which his people dwelt in Mirkwood but had been swayed enough by his fair words to agree to visit them with him at a later date. Still, he had at least managed to get Gimli to agree to visit Fangorn with him in return.

Celebrimbor interrupts to ask if they ever did return there and Legolas promises he will get to that part.

He speaks then of how their journey through the Paths of the Dead had given he and Gimli time to become closer. Though it had been unsettling, Legolas had feared not the shades of Men, but his dwarf had been unnerved by it and more so that here was a place an Elf would willingly go underground whilst he was reluctant.

Arriving at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Legolas describes what they had found. He had had no choice but to talk about the One Ring directly earlier, and had been cautious in discussing any of the rings or their bearers, so hadn't realised quite what an impact it would have when he started to speak of the Witch-king’s death. “It was in that battle that the greatest of the Dark Lord's servants was slain, by Lady Éowyn of Rogan and the hobbit, Meriadoc, in accordance with Glorfindel’s prophecy.”

Celebrimbor looks confused, and Legolas is about to explain about the prophecy, when he says, “The Witch-king?”

“No-one knew his name,” Legolas starts to reply. “He was the leader of the Úlaer, that is a Ringwraith-” He quickly realises he has made a mistake, as Celebrimbor turns a deathly pale.

That is the first time Celebrimbor actually walks away from him. He doesn’t say anything just stands abruptly and leaves the room.

Legolas resists the urge to follow him; he isn’t sure he trusts himself not to misspeak again. He knew there were rumours the Úlairi were the original kings of Men the Nine had been made for, their lives unnaturally extended by the rings’ powers, he should have known better then to use a term like ‘wraith’ to describe them.

When Celebrimbor returns, an hour or so later, they both try to apologise at the same time.

“I should have been more careful with my words.”

“No, I am sorry, I shouldn’t have over-reacted like that.”

It didn’t seem like an unjustified reaction to Legolas but, if Celebrimbor didn’t want to make it an issue, then he is happy to let it go. Still, he resolves to be more thoughtful; the Noldor is doing him a favour and has already gone out of his way to assist far beyond the original scope of Mithrandir's request.

Celebrimbor insists Legolas should continue his retelling, so Legolas skips the rest of the battle and their brief visit to Merry and Pippin in Gondor, and instead describes how they had finally pushed onto besiege the Black Gate.

Facing forces which vastly unnumbered them, they had thought they would die in that battle but hoped to buy Frodo and Sam enough time to destroy the Ring in the fires in which it had been forged. “Gimli said he had never thought he would die fighting side by side with an elf. I could have said the same of a dwarf but I didn’t think of him that way any longer, just as a friend.”

Of course, they had survived. By the time he finishes that tale darkness has fallen, Legolas’ voice is growing strained and Celebrimbor has a pile of paper with notes and quick sketches as ideas have passed through his mind.

They pass the rest of the week the same, whilst Elrond makes the final arrangements for the workshop to be set-up, moving through the years after the war, their return to Aglarond and the founding of the settlements there and in Ithilien, then their journey to Valinor and their few years together here, and by the end it feels as though he and Celebrimbor are becoming friends.

Although he hadn’t reacted to it when they had spoken initially, Legolas quickly learns not to mention Sauron or the rings in conversation as it seemed to set Celebrimbor off into a spiral of guilt. He supposed Celebrimbor had been prepared to hear it before. It had been several days before he had seen him again, though he had haunted the workshop in wait, and Legolas had even sought out Elrond in his concern. But then Celebrimbor had returned and resumed work, without ever saying a word about it.

Legolas could hardly imagine what his father and grandfather would think of his befriending not just a Noldor, but a kinslayer, even if he hadn’t necessarily fought himself. Legolas didn’t want to ask about it; he was one of the House of Feanor itself, no matter that Celebrimbor had renounced his family name long before the War of Wrath.

Still, Thranduil had forgiven him for loving a dwarf, and the old pain from Doriath ran just as deep there. Then again, his father had often spoken bitterly of how Elrond and Galadriel were able to defend their realms with gifted power while the residents of Eryn Galen had had to make do with their own force of arms, so perhaps his dislike of Celebrimbor would have been honestly earnt.

But either way, it felt the two of them were closer. Celebrimbor had supported him through his tales of Gimli, bringing him soothing teas when he spoke until his throat was raw and holding him through bouts of tears. He, in return, had drawn Celebrimbor into conversations about dwarven customs and crafting which, though it meant little to him, from the enthusiasm with which Celebrimbor approached the topic, it was something he cared deeply about but rarely had the opportunity to speak freely on.

Then, finally, everything was in place for Celebrimbor to start on the construction of the piece.


	5. Chapter 5

It is strange for Celebrimbor to listen to Legolas’ tales. He has heard the outline of these events before, from Elrond, Galadriel and Olórin as they assured him Sauron’s power was broken for good, but it wasn’t like this. 

Logically Celebrimbor knew the events must have taken place in Legolas and Gimli's lifetimes but he hadn’t quite realised the pair of them had been so intimately involved with the quest to destroy the One Ring, as two of Elrond’s Nine Walkers.   

Still, he has agreed to the task so he steels himself for the pain of hearing about the suffering he struggles not to blame himself for.  Celebrimbor knows it was Sauron’s doing and Sauron who holds the greatest part of the fault but it is hard not to think he should have realised something was wrong.   

Celebrimbor had been so flattered by the idea that he was especially skilled that he hadn't stopped to think about how Mairon was like no Maia of Aule he had met before, but he had been so convincing... 

As Legolas talks, Celebrimbor lets his charcoal stick flow across the parchment without really paying attention to what he is drawing. Over the years, he has found a lot of his best work has come when he doesn't think too hard but just lets himself work on instinct. 

He listens as Legolas recounts his memories of events, describing the small moments he and Gimli had shared against the backdrop of something greater.  Celebrimbor can relate to that experience; it never felt that momentous at the time, when you were fighting for your lives, watching friends and comrades fall beside you, and sometimes it was strange to realise how important each individual moment had been. 

Although he could hardly avoid mention, Legolas came back to the subject of Sauron more often than Celebrimbor was truly happy with but then he couldn’t deny the Maia had shaped the Age in his absence as much as his presence. 

He wants to ask about the fate of the dwarven rings, especially when Legolas alludes to them in his explanation of how Gimli came to be in Imladris but, given what became of the Nine, perhaps he’d better off not knowing. 

Celebrimbor suppresses a smile as Legolas waxes lyrical about Gimli’s combat prowess, though he is somewhat envious of Legolas and his stories of battles.  He had seen dwarves glorious in battle but, in Narvi’s lifetime, they had lived through a period of relative peace in Eregion, where a deliberate effort would have been needed to find a foe.   

By the time Sauron’s forces brought war to their doorstep, Narvi had been long dead, and Celebrimbor had been relieved at the time but now he couldn’t help thinking about how it might have been to fight side-by-side.  On the other hand, Sauron could well have broken him by threatening Narvi as he had proved himself willing to use such tactics on Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Celebrimbor wasn’t certain how Finrod had held out against it as long as he had. 

It is a long tale, before Legolas reaches the end of the War of the Ring, and he too seems exhausted by the retelling. Celebrimbor prepares them a light supper and then encourages Legolas to rest some more.  If he's honest, he needs the break too. 

Returning to his seat, Celebrimbor realises he has already covered a dozen sheets with notes and sketches.  He isn't ready to do more then glance through them but he thinks there are some ideas there he can work with. 

It is good to have a project he can really get his teeth into again. A Reborn Exile wasn't the person many wanted to commission for their work so he hadn't been challenged in a long while.  Aulë had found tasks for him to do but, if the Vala hadn't been the one to urge him to take Olórin up on this, Celebrimbor might almost have suspected he had wanted to keep him away from any serious endeavour. 

Celebrimbor goes to sleep planning the engraving and thinking back the projects he had worked on alongside Narvi.  He finds himself outside their doors of Hadhodrond, but in his dreams beyond them is only the dark ruin Legolas had described - Moria in truth.   

He forces his mind onto happier paths, and a memory of Narvi comes to mind, his lover guiding his fingers through the complex signs of iglishmêk.  He recalled how proud Narvi had been of him the first time he had signed at him across a crowded room. 

The following day Celebrimbor feels somewhat steadier and, now they are past the War of the Ring, he can relax a little more.  Legolas still has plenty of tales from the aftermath of the victory; the coronation of Aragorn as King Elessar of Gondor and his wedding to Arwen, daughter of Elrond, then later the regeneration of the Greenwood, and Legolas and Gimli’s own travels. 

They accept Elrond’s invitation to dinner that evening and it is awkward. Celebrimbor has to borrow some suitable robes as he had brought nothing more than work clothes with him. Celebrían knows Celebrimbor well enough to make a minimal fuss but it is still a formal meal with Elrond’s household and other guests present.   

They don’t make any formal announcements but it still feels as though everyone is watching him, judging him.  Elrond welcomes him warmly and presents him as, “Our cousin, Celebrimbor.” 

It isn't inaccurate but, from the sideways glances, it doesn't do anything to alleviate their curiosity about his presence here. 

Legolas seems more at ease to begin as it seems he is well acquainted with the members of Elrond’s household but he becomes more tense as the meal goes on, with each person who tells him how glad they are to see him out and about again.   

Maybe Celebrimbor is being overly sensitive, but he feels an undertone of condescension, as though they feel Legolas should be done with mourning the dwarf. It is nothing he hasn't heard himself. 

Celebrimbor feels out of place here, just as he does in Tirion, though he appreciates Celebrían’s efforts at conversation. He assures her of Finrod’s good health and happiness, at least when he had seen him last. 

Either she or Elrond has selected his favourite foods, particularly the apple cake he’s always been especially fond of for dessert, but he declines the offer to stay for drinks and song in their hall. 

It is a relief to return to the little cottage and the privacy it offers.  The way Legolas drops heavily into his chair says he feels the same. 

“You were about to tell me about visiting Aglarond,” Celebrimbor prompts him instead. 

Legolas’ expression lights up as he describes how proud his dwarf had been to show him the beauty of the Glittering Caves there and how Legolas had fallen for Gimli even further on watching him share his passion. 

“I grew up in caves,” Legolas tells him, explaining how the Great Hall of his father’s palace ha been designed to provide refuge to their people should the forests of his homeland become overrun by the creatures of darkness as they grew in number.  But the caverns of his childhood had been plain, functional, though still light and airy as only elven crafts-folk cared to make them; nothing at all like Aglarond. 

His description reminds Celebrimbor of Nargothrond and, his tongue loosened after a few glasses of wine, Celebrimbor finds himself waxing lyrical about Finrod's underground realm.  Finrod had had it designed by dwarves; he’d never met a new culture that he hadn’t been fascinated by, and it had been truly inspiring. 

Even at the height of its power, Nargothrond had never matched Khazad-Dûm in impressiveness but it had surpassed it in beauty.  Celebrimbor is no bard, but he has enough skill and power to bring the images to life in Legolas’ mind and he sees the younger elf mesmerised by them.   

“The dwarves gave life to the stone, letting it flow like water, accompanied by the constant sound of the Narog running past the doors,” he begins. “Then the elven smiths and other crafts-folk got to work.”  He expounds on how the elves had raised its beauty to another level. “Every carved embellishment, every balustrade, every light fitting, every piece of furniture was carefully designed and crafted to add to the ambiance.” 

He is lost in the memory of Nargothrond at its peak, when Finrod still lived, before the oath had reawakened, before Turin was even born.  Then he realises the shining of Legolas’ eyes is the tears they are filling with. He stops abruptly and Legolas turns his face up to him. 

“Why did you stop?” 

Celebrimbor finds himself stepping forward and reaching out to wipe Legolas’ tears away with his hand, as though Legolas were his own kinsman.  “I never meant to make you weep.” 

Legolas flushes, and turns his face away, as though embarrassed by his show of emotion.  “I only wish Gimli had been able to hear your stories and see your memories of it too.” 

“I would have enjoyed telling such tales to a dwarf,” Celebrimbor admits, “but you knew him and loved him. Your own response tells me a great deal.” 

The smile he gets in response is shaky but it is still there. “There is still more of my tale I owe you.”

“You do not owe me anything,” Celebrimbor assures him. “Still, I welcome anything you are willing to share.”

Legolas leans back in his seat and describes how Gimli had been made Lord of the Glittering Caves, whilst he had led a group of his own people to restore Ithilien.  They had spent as much time apart as together, given their responsibilities, but they had always made the most of what time they had.

Gimli had proudly displayed the new gates of mithril and steel his smiths had made for Minas Tirith and in return Legolas had shown him orchards heavy with fruit.  But the years had grown heavy on Gimli, and his strength had faded.

As Legolas talks about the last of his time in Endórë, about Gimli aging, leaving their families and friends behind, Celebrimbor remembers the last years of Narvi’s life.  When he had become too frail to keep crafting, Narvi had tried to push him away but Celebrimbor had refused to give him up.

Legolas shares his pain.  “I had hoped being permitted to bring Gimli here to the Undying Lands have meant we did not need to be parted.“

Sadly, Námo only restored elven souls and he would forever be parted from Narvi as was Legolas from his Gimli.  Celebrimbor ends up comforting the other elf through his tears.

“How do you cope with it?” Legolas asks.

Celebrimbor has always known it would be pointless to let his grief consume him; if he was going to do that he might as well have stayed in Mandos’ Halls though he would have never had a chance to do some good to balance out his sins there.  Still, that is hardly the encouragement Legolas needs. “I remind myself I am not the only one to have loved and lost,” he says instead. 

It had the benefit of being true, which was why there were those whose presence he would have avoided, even if they had wished to see _him_.  As much as Celebrimbor had come to love and admire Elrond over the years, back in Beleriand Idril and later Elwing had also been distant with him for his bloodline. Even had they not been, he resents Tuor’s presence in Aman; at least Lúthien and Beren had passed beyond the world as mortals. 

Eärendil, conversely, he feels sorry for, as he did for all those who had suffered from their loved ones’ contact with the Silmaril.  Celebrimbor had never understood Dior’s decision, nor Elwing’s, but then he had seen first-hand how his family were driven by their oath, no matter what atrocities it demanded. 

Pulling himself back to the present moment, he shares a look of understanding with Legolas but it is not a subject he wants to discuss.  “It is late,” he says, excusing himself for the night. 

It is only a couple more days from then until the makeshift workshop Elrond has arranged is ready and Legolas joins Celebrimbor as he wanders around it for the first time, positioning workbenches where they can best catch the light and setting tools into easy reach.  It is surely dull to watch and at some point Legolas must silently slip out since when Celebrimbor looks up next he is alone. 

He lays out his initial designs, and a roll of drafting paper, preparing to pull the best elements together into a final plan. 

As Celebrimbor works on the design, he acknowledges how much he misses having Narvi at his side.  Whether they had been working together, such as when making West-gate, or focusing on their own projects, his lover had ever been there, adding his own commentary. Celebrimbor had never had the time in his years of exile to dwell on his memories of Aman but, now he is back, it is Endórë he remembers. 

Aulë has tried to keep him busy, whilst Yavanna and Estë have helped with his grief. Finrod and later Celebrían’s need drew him out in support, preventing him from being a recluse. Then since their return Elrond, Galadriel and Mithrandir have all sought him out, reassuring him they didn’t blame him for Annatar, no, Sauron’s betrayal, but nothing has touched his core. 

This project however, has returned to him the joy of crafting for its own sake.  As he sketches, Celebrimbor can almost feel the stone being shaped beneath his hands, the metal bending.  This is how it used to be for him, the way it’s meant to be, showing him where the errors are in his design before he commits them to form. 

Though this part of the process is hardly a thrilling sight, Legolas comes and goes, often sitting beside him as Celebrimbor works through his designs, turning his initial sketches into actual proposals. 

He consults with the Sinda until he finds one they both agree on and then starts to produce a maquette from clay.  It has been a long time since he used Khuzdul but, as he works, he remembers learning his letters as a child in Aman and then, in Eregion, coming across dwarves using the Angerthas Moria, and the sense of familiarity. 

Legolas had seemed passive earlier in the process but now he is beginning to show curiosity again, and not just in the model. “Where did you learn Khuzdul?” he asks, as Celebrimbor engraves a few letters on the face of the maquette. 

“Early in our time in Endórë, we encountered the dwarves of Belegost,” Celebrimbor tells him, describing how he and his father had hoarded the few words they had overheard, before the dwarves understood the range of elven hearing and switched, he later realised, to iglishmêk, and tried to put together a lexicon. 

Then, after the War of Wrath, how he had helped to settle Eregion and set up first a trading agreement and then alliances with the dwarves there.  They didn't hold his family name against him, instead remembering how the House of Fëanor had a reputation for being fair in their dealings with dwarves. 

“Which is how you met Narvi?” Legolas asks.

Celebrimbor smiles sadly. “Indeed.” 

His hands still as he talks, his mind going far away.  Narvi had been just an apprentice, accompanying his master to their trade talks, but he had proved to have an instinctive grasp for diplomacy, or at least infinite patience with their strange, elven ways, and had quickly become the favourite of the Mírdain.

And as their patronage increased his own standing, Narvi had progressed to journeyman and then to master craftsman in his own right.  He had a more open outlook than many dwarves and was the first of them to be inducted into the Mírdain. It was there his and Celebrimbor’s relationship had progressed past allies, past even friendship, into a deeper commitment which had lasted until Narvi's death.

It was Narvi who had eventually taught him Khuzdul and Celebrimbor actually laughs as he described how, when his dwarf had started to teach him the Cirth, he had been surprised at how quickly Celebrimbor picked the letters up, before he had pointed out his grandfather had basically invented them.

“I was always taught it was Daeron who had created the runes,” Legolas says, his tone somewhere between surprise and suspicion.

“Well, he was inspired by Fëanor’s Tengwar,” Celebrimbor points out with a shrug, and Legolas doesn’t press.  Neither of them are really interested in a discussion on orthography.

Celebrimbor admits that, as their friendship had deepened, Narvi had even taught him iglishmêk, despite the proscription on his doing so, and other non-verbal ways of communicating.  “Narvi always loved to braid my hair,” Celebrimbor says. “He especially enjoyed the look on visiting dwarves’ faces when they recognised the pattern.” There was an obvious interpretation to be made when an elf wore dwarven family braids but it was hardly a common connection.

Legolas visibly relaxes and they share a smile.  Celebrimbor feels something unwind inside him.

“Do you know how to braid dwarven-style?” Legolas asks.

“It has been a while,” Celebrimbor says.  “But I think I can still remember how.” 

His fingers are clumsy, and probably dwarven hairstyles had changed a little in an age, but he manages to produce a passable imitation of a smith’s braids in Legolas’ hair, it being one of the patterns he knows how to braid into his own. He could have asked for a sketch of Gimli, seen how the artist depicted his own braids and tried to replicate that but it is easier to stick with what he knows.  Legolas seems grateful enough for it anyway. 

Mostly they are left alone as Celebrimbor works, even those who know who he is and why he is there keeping their distance.  Elrond and Celebrían have both dropped in from time to time but there are few others who would be close enough to bother him. 

It is therefore a surprise one day when he looks up and the blond elf sitting opposite him is not Legolas, but an entirely different, yet still familiar face. 

“You are looking happier, cousin,” Glorfindel tells him.  “And Legolas seems healthier too.” 

Elrond has taken to sending servants most days with plates of food, or baskets of fresh produce, so they are both eating properly and it is easier to sleep deeply when he is working hard every day. 

Celebrimbor sees no point pretending. “I am. I have a task which actually challenges me.” Glorfindel is dressed immaculately as ever but there is something tight around his eyes. “And you?” Celebrimbor asks. 

“I’ve been keeping myself busy,” Glorfindel says with a shrug. “I travel around a lot.” 

Celebrimbor can understand that. He knows only too well how, as an exile, you could never get back the home you had left behind.   

Glorfindel was one of the few whose company he could bear - his distant cousin understood the sacrifice he had made.  Even with his greater experience and wisdom, Glorfindel had still been fooled by Annatar’s fair face and silver words.  Perhaps, if Glorfindel had spent more time in Eregion, he might have noticed something was amiss but Ereinion had needed him more.  Then again, he might not have; Galadriel had disliked the Maia but even she had not suspected his true identity. 

Celebrimbor breaks the silence. “Legolas said you helped him.” 

“I did what I could,” Glorfindel says modestly. 

It sounded as though he didn’t think it was enough but Celebrimbor thought he was underestimating his impact. He didn’t think he’d have been able to bring Legolas back from the brink of fading if Glorfindel hadn’t been there first with his support.  “It made a difference,” he assures him.

Glorfindel only shrugs. “I understood some of what he was going through.”

Of all the elves here, until he had met Legolas, Glorfindel had been the one who came closest to understanding Celebrimbor’s pain.  Not only had he been an Exile too, watching friends and family die, not knowing if he would ever return to Aman but then, after his own death and rebirth, he had been sent back to Endórë.  

Having his reunion with those same friends and family cut short, or missed entirely, only to experience another age of losses, must have been its own challenge. But, even then, Glorfindel had always carried the knowledge that eventually he would be reunited with his loved ones; Celebrimbor had never had that luxury and neither did Legolas, though for different reasons.

Glorfindel might be restless here, in the absence of conflict, the constant fighting he’d been accustomed to but he couldn’t understand the depths of Legolas’ grief, nor Celebrimbor’s loneliness as hard as he tried.

As the days pass and Celebrimbor progresses with his plan, Legolas stays to watch him for longer and longer.  By the time Celebrimbor moves onto the actual work of sculpting and forging, he feels they might actually be becoming friends.

As well as iglishmêk and hair-braiding, Narvi had also taught Celebrimbor dwarven forging techniques, which he still uses.

Probably Narvi’s kin would have been horrified if they know how much he’d revealed to an elf, and maybe Gimli Glóinson might have felt the same, but Legolas expresses delight over the delicacy of the perforations. “Gimli’s people occasionally made pieces like this but I was never allowed to see them do it.”

“I had always hoped to return to Valinor and refine the techniques I learnt from him at Aulë’s forge,” Celebrimbor explains. He had worked towards that goal, dreaming that one day he would be forgiven his family's doom.  He shakes his head. “I always knew I would outlive him, I just thought I would cope better.”

Aulë had welcomed him back and, though he wasn’t always present, was ever willing to speak about his folk but even he will only say Eru has his own plan for the souls of dwarves.  So to speak with this Sindarin prince, to share in the beauty and skill of Durin’s folk, is a relief.

They discuss the wording of the memorial, what they both recall from the few dwarven tombs they were allowed to see and what Legolas wants said.  They both know few, if any, besides them will be able to read the words but it still feels important to get it right. Celebrimbor supposes Aulë will appreciate it. 

As time passes, and the gravestone and its planned setting grow closer to completion, their conversations moves away from dwarves, to their own experiences.  Legolas isn’t young and had lived through an entirely different Age to Celebrimbor. Indeed, he had lived through a different changing of the Age; the aftermath of the final battles of the First Age and the defeat of Morgoth had been a tumultuous time.  From Legolas’ account, the ending of the Third Age had been a more harmonious process. 

The one time Legolas brings up Sauron’s name after the War of the Ring is a bad time.  Celebrimbor should have known better than to try and push through on such an inauspicious day.

After his rebirth he had mapped out all the anniversaries he wanted to remember to Aman’s calendar but at times like now he regretted it.  He would rather not have been reminded of Finrod’s death but now he can’t help but think on it. Beren and Lúthien hadn’t brought Finrod’s body back to Nargothrond, burying him instead on the isle but he could substitute memories of his own torture at Sauron’s hands.  It takes some days before he can clear his thoughts sufficiently.

Legolas is more careful after that.  It is easier as the piece starts to take shape, looking truly dwarven in design. They share stories of great dwarven crafts they had seen: Celebrimbor describes the beauty of the Nauglamír, made for Finrod, the incredible craftsmanship of the Dragon-Helm of Dor-lómin gifted to Maedhros by Azaghâl, whilst Legolas speaks of the Arkenstone.

Celebrimbor has been careful to make something which will fit into its elven-designed surroundings; a little more elaborate than a simple headstone but hardly a traditional dwarven vault.  He had thought about erecting a table above the existing grave but that seemed excessive. Instead his small monument to hold the new engraved plaque will sit over one end.

It still doesn’t feel complete though, until one morning Celebrimbor awakes with a revelation.  He fills pages with his new idea before Legolas wakes and that is how Legolas finds him.

“I thought you’d finished your design?” he asks.  “Or are you working on your next project already?”

There is something in his tone but Celebrimbor ignores it for now.  He cuts straight to the chase, saying, “You’re doing all this for him. What about you?”

Legolas looks confused.

“I think it is noble to honour his memory as his people would have but he was _your_ beloved.  Should there not be something of you in the memorial?” 

Legolas looks intrigued.  “What kind of thing were you thinking?”

Celebrimbor shows him his sketch of a small circle of trees surrounding the tomb.  

Legolas looks stunned and then delighted.  “That’s… That’s perfect.”

Not being an expert, Celebrimbor has only vague suggestions as to the trees themselves.  “I thought perhaps something evergreen so there will always be green leaves?”

Legolas eagerly agrees, though there is a quaver in his voice.  “That would be perfect. And the rest could be willows so it will be easier to weave the branches together.”

Celebrimbor can see a light in his eyes, at last, more than mere curiosity or hope, that will genuinely move him forwards.  He feels that he has achieved something greater here than a simple memorial.


	6. Chapter 6

When Celebrimbor had asked Elrond’s permission to send invitations for the presentation of the new addition to Gimli’s memorial to a few people further afield, explaining it was not yet ready but he wanted to allow time for them to travel here, Elrond had readily agreed. 

Celebrimbor hadn’t given him any more details and, though Elrond had been intrigued, he had remained patient. He knew Celebrían was involved in the plans and she would have told him if there was anything he needed to be concerned about. Instead, he arranges guest suites to be readied and ensures the kitchens are prepared for the extra mouths to be fed.

When the day comes, the whole household are invited to the short ceremony at the tomb, which is to be held just past dusk.

Ithil is already high in the sky, full and bright, as Elrond walks arm-in-arm with Celebrían across their grounds, accompanied by Glorfindel, recently returned from travelling.

At the top of the path which winds along to the memorial site, they are met by Galadriel, Finrod and Mithrandir. Celebrían embraces her mother and uncle, while Elrond greets them warmly. He hadn’t known they would be here, but he had suspected they were on the short list of those Celebrimbor might have wanted present.

Celebrían walks ahead, chattering with Finrod, and Elrond offers Galadriel his arm. He had informed her of Gimli’s death when it happened but she had been unable to attend the original funeral so this would be her first time seeing the grave.

“I am longing to see what Tyelpe has designed for this,” she tells him. “Do you know what to expect?”

Elrond wishes he had more to tell her but he has to shake his head. “No, it has been a well-kept secret. I suspect Celebrían knows more, but I didn’t see any need to ask too many questions. All I can tell you is that it has been several months’ in the making.”

Galadriel sighs in evident disappointment. “How has he been?” she asks instead.

“Tyelpe or Legolas?” Elrond asks.

“Well, I meant Tyelpe,” she says. “Finrod worries about him. But Legolas too; I know Celebrían was quite concerned after Gimli’s death.”

“They both seem much lighter of spirit,” he tells her.

When Celebrimbor had first arrived, sneaking in like a beggar, to a place he should have known he would be welcomed, Elrond had noticed how he had been hunched, trying not to stand out. Even at the dinner they had held in his honour, despite Celebrían’s care to curate the invite list, Celebrimbor had still looked uncomfortable. 

Now the craftsman stands tall and proud, glowing with satisfaction, as he welcomes guests along the path.

As they approach, it becomes clear the new memorial is even more impressive than Elrond had expected. Though he had realised from the time it had taken that it wouldn’t be just a plaque with a few words carved in dwarven, and he knew Legolas had been speaking to Celebrían and some of their gardeners, he still hadn’t expected this.

The original cairn had been on the open hillside facing the the lake but now it is surrounded by trees. A half-height retaining wall backstops it, with evergreen magnolia interspersed with delicate willow trees, woven together into an arc over the tomb, bare now but with the promise of new growth.

It draws the eye in to the small monument, sitting over the head of the existing cairn, holding a plaque. The bronze panel is embellished with intricately carved copper-work surrounding the engraving itself, which is enhanced by the effect of ithildin gleaming off the words under the light of the moon.

Elrond isn’t entirely sure on the translation but Mithrandir gives it as: “Here lies a noble warrior, trusted comrade and the only dwarf in Valinor, Gimli son of Glóin of the House of Durin, beloved of Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm. May Aulë grant him peace.”

Elrond had made it clear that any who attended would be expected to be respectful and they all bow their heads as they file in under the trees, taking their seats on the simple stone benches which have been integrated into the memorial or on the wall itself, between the trees, or even on the ground, nearly three dozen people assembled there, all told.

He should have been surprised at the turnout. Of course, many of them had met Gimli or even served him in his final years and, whatever they thought of Legolas’ mourning, they would not dishonour his memory, no more than they would Bilbo, Frodo or Sam’s.

Celebrimbor presides over the short ceremony. He has eschewed his plain craftsman’s outfit for a formal robe in a deep wine red, with silver trim and looks every inch the Noldorin Prince he is by rights. Beside him is Legolas, looking equally princely, wearing a sleet grey brocade surcot over a pale green tunic, rather than the plain styles he had been favouring and no longer pale and bowed with grief.

Both have their hair braided in an unusual style, which nonetheless looks somewhat familiar to Elrond. Were they dwarven braids? The loremaster in him wanted to ask questions about their meaning but the diplomat knew now was not the time.

After Legolas follows Celebrimbor’s short speech with his own thanks to them all for attending, and Celebrimbor himself for his hard work, a hooded figure steps forward.

He pushes the hood back and Elrond can tell he is one of the Valar. Even if it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have guessed it was Aulë from his strong arms and thick beard. Celebrimbor bows low to him and Legolas follows suit.

The audience stir and start to murmur amongst themselves until Elrond gives them a quelling look, while Aulë looks over the finished memorial then back to Celebrimbor. 

“Good work,” the Vala tells him and Celebrimbor visibly flushes with the praise.

“If I may speak,” Aulë proceeds to asks Legolas, who is quick to permit it, then adds his own brief words to the ceremony; a few platitudes in Quenya and then a longer eulogy in, Elrond presumes, Khuzdul. Mithrandir doesn't translate this but Celebrimbor and Legolas both look grateful for whatever he says.

They all mingle afterwards and Legolas and Celebrimbor both separately approach Elrond to thank him for his support and assistance. Elrond assures them both he was happy to have helped.

As the crowd clears, leaving only close friends and family, Elrond finds Mithrandir and they take a seat on a bench overlooking the lake.

“I must confess myself most satisfied,” Mithrandir says, taking out his pipe. Elrond doesn't know how he has managed to find somewhere to cultivate his pipeweed here in Aman but he certainly hasn't given up the habit.

“It has certainly worked well,” Elrond agrees. “They've been good for each other.”

“Most certainly, though I could hardly have imagined this degree of success.” Mithrandir leans back as he blows a perfect smoke ring. “It seems to have been the perfect solution for both of them.”

“Indeed,” Elrond allowed himself a smile. “I held little hope for either of them but this is a remarkable recovery.”

They had both told Celebrimbor multiple times that it wasn’t his fault for being deceived by Annatar, that they didn’t blame him for the centuries they had spent carrying the elven rings.

Elrond had even tried to get him to speak with Bilbo, beyond their initial meeting, since the aged Hobbit had considered the opportunity to sail to Valinor more than sufficient compensation for the strain of bearing the One Ring, but Celebrimbor had always refused and it had seemed there was little they could do to help him. 

After so many years, and with no expectation of ever seeing any elf who had remained, they had both been delighted when Legolas had finally arrived, with Gimli in tow, and carrying news of those who had stayed behind.

Although Elrond and Celebrían sorrowed for their sons, he held out hope they might yet be permitted to sail.

Elrond had suggested a journey to Aulë’s forge but the dwarf was old by then, too old to go travelling across another continent and Legolas had had no desire to be separated from him and little attention to spare for anyone else.

There were few enough among the Aman-born who had spent much time around dwarves, and even fewer among those returned or reborn Exiles who might have cared to visit. Instead Elrond had to turn away lorekeepers and others who saw Gimli as a curiosity, an object of study rather than a person.

If Aulë or one of his Maiar had visited Gimli’s sickbed, Elrond had never heard of it but he hoped so in any case. They had no need to announce their presence after all.

Didn't need to, but could, as Aulë demonstrates now asking, “May I join you?”

“Of course,” Elrond stands and offers the Vala a deep bow, waving him to a seat.

“Please, there is no need to stand on ceremony,” Aulë says, as he settles onto one of the stone benches. “I simply wanted to thank you both for your involvement in this. I have been at a loss for how to help Celebrimbor for many years.”

“It was nothing,” Elrond tells him.

“Nonetheless, I owe you a debt for making it happen where I was bound not to interfere.”

“Then you knew about Legolas and Gimli?” Elrond asks, curious.

“Of course,” Aulë assures him, but offers no further details. “There are few enough elves who love my children of stone, I am glad he and Celebrimbor have found each other. So, if there is anything I can do for you…”

A favour from a Vala is a rare gift but nonetheless Elrond demurs. “I had hardly anything to do with it. Mithrandir was the one who arranged it all.”

“No, the credit belongs to you, old friend,” Mithrandir insists. “I only put a few words in at the right time. When I heard Legolas had asked you about getting a Khuzdul inscription, it seemed the perfect opportunity.”

Elrond frowns. “I didn't tell you about that.”

“Ah, but your lovely wife did,” Mithrandir tells him.

Elrond looks up and sees Celebrían introducing Finrod to Legolas, whilst Celebrimbor actually laughs at whatever it is she says to them.

It was a great relief to see the two of them unwind in each other's company and interacting with others too.

Elrond privately thought it would do them all good to be friends. Finrod was still far too serious, if even half the tales Galadriel had told of him as a child were true.

They watch as Celebrían slips away, leaving the three to talk. She joins their group, looking satisfied with herself as she squeezes onto the bench beside Elrond.

“Was this your plan all along?” Elrond asks, as he wraps an arm around her slender waist.

“Of course,” she smiles, seeming to enjoy their nonplussed expressions. “I always wanted to help Celebrimbor, he has done so much for me, but I knew he wouldn't thank me for interfering.”

“So then when Legolas and Gimli arrived, you saw a solution?” Aulë asks.

“Well, I had hoped to arrange for him to visit sooner but I couldn't come up with a good enough excuse to bring him here,” she explained. “Then Legolas withdrew from company so quickly after Gimli’s death, I wasn't sure a visitor would be welcomed.”

“So when I told you of Legolas’ request for a tombstone-” Elrond prompts.

“Then it occurred to me how both problems could be solved in one fell swoop,” she finishes. “My only concern was how to pass on the request, but Mithrandir handled that.” Celebrían smiles at the Maia.

“A scheme I am more than happy to have been part of,” Mithrandir says, returning her smile.

“Well, it has been a great success. I am most grateful to you, Lady Celebrían.” Aulë gives her a short bow. “It has been a pleasure but I must take my leave. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Aulë sheds his fana, which dissipates into the wind, and they take that as a sign it is time to head back to the house.

Elrond and Celebrían lead the way, Finrod still in deep conversation with Legolas as they walk back arm-in-arm, Celebrimbor close behind, occasionally joining in. Mithrandir and Galadriel follow them more sedately, holding their own debate, while Glorfindel brings up the rear.

As Elrond glances back, he feels a wave of gratitude that so many of his friends and family are together here and now. It is good to see them safe and well after so many years of heartache.


End file.
